


It's Good to Be the King

by cinder1013



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Drag, abuse of a beautiful car, books were harmed, magic panties, panty flashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinder1013/pseuds/cinder1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some reason Zeus has stepped down as King of Olympus and they are having an election to replace him. It doesn't matter why. That is not a part of this story. </p><p>What's important is that Strife is running for king and he has magic panties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Good to Be the King

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: When Strife is talking I just kinda gave up on the punctuation. Also, books are harmed in this. I'm so sorry. It just happened in the flow.

He fluffed his hair. “How do I look?”

“Fantas-tIc,” Jace assured him, playing a little with Strife’s spikes. “Now, you smile.”

Strife grinned showing off a set of rather sharp teeth. 

“Are you sure about this?” Cupid asked.

“Jace is always sure.”

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You’re sitting on the hood of Dad’s favorite Jaguar convertible wearing a leather mini-dress and red thigh-high boots that are absolutely sure to scratch the paint job.” Cupid thought about it for a moment. “And I can see your underwear.”

Lying back, Strife pulled his legs up and spread them wide, showing off red lace panties. “You like?”

“Well, I …”

He shut his legs. “It won’t get me elected?”

Cupid took a deep breath. “Panties do not get a person –“

Strife spread his legs.

“… elect… ed to stuff. And …”

Strife shut his legs. “You were saying?” Jace turned away, trying to hide his snickers.

“That’s not fair.”

He grinned. “They’re magic panties.” He opened his legs again. All Cupid could do was stare. “You believe me?” He shut his legs.

“That’s absurd.”

Strife opened his legs. “Really?”

“R … er … yes.”

“Really, really?”

Cupid just stood there like a lump on a log and licked his lips. 

Strife shut his legs. “Hey, Jace, looks like the panties work.”

“Fantas-tIc!”

Cupid shook himself like a dog. “What do you mean, ‘looks like the panties work’? Work for what? And you’re going to scratch Dad’s car. He’ll kill you for that.” 

Sitting back up, Strife deliberately put a long scratch in the paint job with the heel of his boot. “He can spank me later. Ooo, maybe with a brush handle. I have a nice wooden brush. It’s new. Do you want to try it?”

“No.”

“You’re so square. We never should have let you get married and all that jazz.”

“Smile for the camera,” Jace ordered. Strife smiled. Jace took pictures. “Perfect! This will make a great campaign poster.”

“Somehow I don’t think ‘magic panties’ is a campaign platform,” Cupid grumbled.

“Of course not.” Strife snapped his fingers, removing the boots, and then stood up on the hood of the car. Those heels weren’t exactly conducive to good balance on a slick surface. “I stand for the rights of godlings! For the right to have the best grapes, the ones that are plump and burst with flavanoids. I stand for the right to spread the joy of my sexiness far and wide on Olympus! My public deserves more Strife and they shall have more Strife! In orgiastic bunches! Also, I want to be elected so I can bury that bitch Calisto in more pain than anyone has ever, ever known.”

“She’s already in the lowest depths of Tartarus,” Cupid pointed out. “She suffers a thousand tortures everyday.”

“She can take more,” Strife growled. Perking up, he lifted his arms to the sky. “And I shall give you Ares chained up and shirtless in the main garden everyday from noon to three. Lookie, but no touchie.”

“Dad is going to kill you!”

“That’ll get Joxie’s vote,” Jace assured him, completely ignoring Cupid.

“And my cousin Cupid will pose naked in the –“

“Oh no! You’re not dragging me into this.”

Strife looked down his nose at his cousin. “Do I need to drag out the panties again?”

“Psyche would kill me.”

Strife made a whip sound.

“Oh, like that will make me do things.”

Jace giggled. “It kind of gets me hot. You, no?”

“Ooo, you want to play dungeon master later?” 

“Maybe you should get off of Dad’s car before you put a dent in the hood.”

“Maybe you’re a wet blanket.” Strife rubbed his hands together. “So, what’s my poster look like?” 

Jace pulled the new sign off the printer. It had a beautiful picture of Strife that smiled and waved. Across the top it read, “Vote for Strife! King and Overlord!” Across the bottom it read, “C’mon! You know you wanna!”

Despite Cupid’s sourpuss predictions of failure, Strife had a lot of support going into the election for the new King of Olympus. The minor gods had all decided to coalesce around one candidate unlike the major deities who couldn’t make a decision. Strife was also wildly popular in Asphodel. His stay there had actually been a pleasant one for everyone except Hades. 

Cupid couldn’t figure it out. “They like you a lot,” he admitted, sitting down next to his cousin. 

“The minor deities, Asphodelians and sea gods do, yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m promising to overthrow all of you, silly boy.” He grinned viciously. “I’m going to march the lot of you naked through the square and whip you under the hot, mid-day sun. That’s what they want. That’s what I’ll give them.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Standing, Strife smirked at him and left, stalking away with an elegant swing of his hips.

Cupid tried to tell people. He tried to warn the others, but the twelve didn’t really believe that a godling could win. 

“You’re going to vote for me, aren’t you dear?” Cupid asked his wife.

She smiled and swallowed hard. “Well …”

“You’re going to vote for Strife?”

“We all agreed!”

“Does everyone know? Do they know you’ll be defying your houses?”

“Would they even listen?”

No one listened. They never listened.

Strife swept into office on a wave of godling good will. He kept all of his promises. 

He dragged Athena’s books out of her library and handed out sharpies so everyone could write dirty words in them and draw nasty pictures. He parceled out Zeus’s extensive porn collection so everyone could have some. He forced Aphrodite to wear earthtones. 

It didn’t stop there. 

The others felt Ares got off easy, being oiled up and paraded into the garden each day, chained up in the sun where he was admired and worshiped. He just smirked and then forced out a sigh, “Such a hardship,” he said as godlings collapsed at his feet begging to lick his leather pants. 

He sent Hera to the amazons to evangelize about marriage. Strife had always liked Hera, but he didn’t care one wit for Artemis. Besides, it kept Hera from trying to fix him up with anyone. 

“Let’s see.” Strife was sitting on his new desk, chewing on a pen, going over a list titled “Shit to Do When I’m King.” “Did that, did that, did that,” he murmured to himself. “Definitely did that.” He crossed something out with a big flourish. “Won’t Herc the Jerk love it when he sees his new collar. Hmmm, what am I missing?”

Just then Cupid stomped into his office. 

“Hey cuz! What’s up?”

“What have you done to my wife?” he yelled. 

“Wife? Wife?” Strife tapped his lip with the pen. “You have a wife?” he teased.

“What have you done to Psyche?” Cupid screamed, getting right up in Strife’s face. 

“Whoa, dude, humus breath.”

He didn’t back off. “Queen of Olympus? She can’t be Queen of Olympus! She’s my wife! That would be mine, as in belonging to me.”

Strife frowned at him. Deeply. The sort of frown that generally preceded someone having their boots filled to the brim with rotten egg yolks. “Ya make it sound like she’s a pair a pants er somethin.”

“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s … she … look, you can’t marry my wife!”

Strife frowned. “Who said anythin bout me marryin Psyche?”

“You’d have to marry her to make her Queen,” Cupid pointed out.

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’”

“I fuckin mean why? It ain’t just a letter.”

Cupid tried to figure that statement out for a moment, but then shook his head to clear it. 

“Look,” Strife continued, “I gotta have a queen. It’s like a ceremonial position. So we all played paper-rock-scissors and I was, like, sure Phoebos had it in the bag, but on the final round Psyche totally took him down. It was fear versus –“

“Paper, rock, what?”

Strife held out a fist and shook it up and down. “You’ve played? Paper-rock-scissors. See, we both shake our fists up and down like we’re wanking and then we both throw, see like this.” He snapped his hand open and held it horizontally. “See, paper. She’ll make a great queen. I got this dress all picked out for the coronation. I need to send that over.” He made a note on his list. “She’s gonna love it!”

“I think you’re not following me here, the queen is married to the king,” Cupid told him very slowly. 

“No, I think yer not followin me. I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t getting married. I don’t wanna and I don’t need ta because I’m king now and what I say goes. So I’m declarin that anyone can be queen that I say so.” Strife took a deep breath of air. “It’s good to be the king.” He smirked. “You got anything to say about that?”

“Umm, no, I guess not.”

“Good. Now you get along home. I think Queen Psyche has a new position for you as babysitter, seein’ as how she has a new full-time job. Ba-bye now.”

Olympus would never be the same again.


End file.
